


Keep me in your glow

by nagdabbit



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Baker Billy Hargrove, Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, People are Dicks, Protective Steve Harrington, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve plays dnd with Robin and some other teachers, Teacher Steve Harrington, Trans Billy Hargrove, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, don't let the bastards get you down billy, i have decided it, it is a thing now, it's just facts, soft boys doing soft things, this is my brand, though it's not actually explored in this part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagdabbit/pseuds/nagdabbit
Summary: He was a face in a crowd, and usually he could remember that. Usually he could find comfort in that. That there was a whole world spinning on, and it didn’t revolve around him.But some days, someone would go out of their way to let Billy know just what they thought of him. A stranger with a cruel, twisted face would come right up and spit insults and curses at him that left his hands shaking and eyes burning with a fear that he’d thought he’d left back in HawkinsSometimes people are dicks, and Steve makes it better by rambling.A little sequel toLit up like a matchbut couldprobablybe read as a standalone.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 14
Kudos: 128





	Keep me in your glow

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Golden Hour by Kacey Musgraves
> 
> So, I asked a couple friends to read _Lit up like a match_ because I am not trans and I wanted to make sure that I didn't accidentally say something offensive (should this have been done BEFORE I posted? Yes, yes it 100% should have but I am cowardly). And after, they put in a request for me (this may become a series but i haven't decided yet). So this was written with their input, and hopefully they weren't lying to me when they said it was good to post.
> 
> Also, they didn't actually edit it because that wasn't their job, so all spelling errors are my own and all weird spaces near italics are Google Docs' fault.
> 
> And if I have written something you find offensive or hurtful, however accidentally and well meaning it might have been, feel free to let me know. I realize everyone has different experiences, and what one person is okay with another might not be.

Everything smelled like flour and coffee.

The shop hadn't been open more than a year yet, and the scent had sunk into every nook and cranny like spilled oil. The sweet scent of coffee, the earthy, nutty scent of flour that clung to Billy like a second skin. 

Later, everything would smell like fresh bread and sugar cookies and spice. And then eggs and sausage for the breakfast crowds, roast chicken and grilled cheese and stewed tomatoes for the lunch specials. In the winter, when they'd just opened, there would always be a lot of chili or soup bubbly on the stove, making the entire space smell like garlic and black pepper and thyme.

But beneath it all, always flour and coffee.

Billy liked to think it was what made people pause when they _looked_ at him. It was easier to imagine it that way, instead of the truth. That they could smell the work and love and passion on him, instead of noting the swell of his hips that hadn't quite gone away, or the too-soft curve of his jaw. That he was more than just _other._

He was _attractive_ , he knew that much. Always had been, even when the skin didn’t fit. It had become something of a curse. When people looked at him long enough, they might start to notice.

Sometimes he could take it. Look them in the eyes and _dare_ them to do anything other than want him. He'd perfected the _look_ , his armour for those nights he had an _itch_ beneath his skin, a rumble in his chest like a fine-tuned engine. An angry smirk, painted on jeans, a neckline so low the only question that remained was _You wanna?_

Most of the time, though, he wanted to _hide._ He was _right_ , finally, and the world suddenly decided to take _notice._ He _hated_ it.

He felt like all eyes were on him every time he stepped outside. Everyone watching like he was a zoo animal, a carnival attraction. Come see the freak show.

And the worst of it was that he _knew_ that wasn’t true. Not entirely. If people looked, they looked; if they looked hard enough to notice, they _noticed_. But it wasn’t every person he passed, every customer, every delivery person, every student of Steve’s they passed in the park. He wasn’t under a microscope, wasn’t being studied at every turn, wasn’t being secretly judged and ridiculed and reviled. 

People were _many._ He was a face in a crowd, and _usually_ he could remember that. _Usually_ he could find comfort in that. That there was a whole _world_ spinning on, and it didn’t revolve around him. 

But _some days_ , someone would go out of their way to let Billy know just what they thought of him. A stranger with a cruel, twisted face would come right up and _spit_ insults and curses at him that left his hands shaking and eyes burning with a fear that he’d thought he’d left back in Hawkins. The type of creeping fear that left him cold and frozen, just _waiting_ for the bite of a fist.

That kind of fear lingered with him. 

Off to his left, the alley door swung open and let in a rush of humid summer air.

"Callie called," Steve said by way of greeting, wandering up to Billy's side.

He didn't jump at the voice. Even if he _hadn't_ heard Steve's key in the alley door, it would have only been a matter of time before he sought Billy out. Only a few months living in each other’s pockets, and Billy was suddenly a language that Steve was fluent in. He’d been out of sorts all week, and it had finally come to a head that morning; Steve would have come that day, regardless of Callie's request.

He turned his head just enough to take in Steve’s rather rumpled state. She must have called him just after she got in a half hour ago, given the baggy pajama pants Steve still wore. Billy wondered how many traffic laws Steve broke as he sped into the city.

"You want company?"

He _did_ was the problem. He very much wanted Steve close, but he wasn't exactly fit for interaction. He didn’t think his jaw had unclenched since he woke that morning, teeth grinding down against a frustrated scream that had been threatening to break free. A week of harsh words echoing through his head had left him tense and achy, exhausted from the effort of hoping Steve wouldn’t notice and worry. Steve _did_ though, but he was always polite enough not to push until Billy could handle it without falling apart.

He turned back to the dough in front of him and gave a little nod.

"Silent companion, or chatty cathy?" 

He couldn't fight the smile if he'd tried. He shook his head and breathed out a laugh as Steve leaned against the counter next to him. He pried apart his tense jaw for a few seconds, "Talk, please." Then he waved to the prepared bowl on the counter, next to trays of cooling cinnamon rolls.

And _Steve_ , the fucking treasure, didn’t need much more instruction than that. He chittered away, smoothing brown butter icing over the tops of warm buns. Nonsense about planning for the next school year, the grocery list for dinner, perhaps stopping at the market on the corner to see Nonna Gianna. He spoke about the possibility of babysitting the Turner twins over the summer--they'd been Steve favourite students, Billy remembered. 

Selfless fucker. He _would_ sit for them, too. He wouldn’t ask for payment of any kind, of course he wouldn’t. With all the books and goodies and _field trips_ , Steve would probably be the one paying for the pleasure of babysitting.

Steve was too good, far too good for the likes of him, universe be damned. Far too sweet to put up with Billy’s mean streak, always had been. But he was stubborn as hell, just as stubborn as Billy, if a little less aggressive about it. He didn’t give up for _anything_. He wouldn’t leave until he was _sure_ Billy would be okay, wouldn’t stop talking until Billy talked back. 

He seemed to know exactly when and when not to bite back. When to let Billy rage and scream and yell until he burnt himself out, when to fire back until the fight in Billy's gut retreated. When Billy needed distractions until he could pull himself out of his own head, when he needed coddled and cared for. 

He just _knew_ , and most of the time it left Billy feeling inadequate. That he didn't just _know_ what Steve needed and when. It took Steve _asking_ before Billy truly got it, and understood what he was feeling. 

It didn't seem to make Steve love him any less, though. 

Down the counter, Steve was waving the icing covered spatula as he spoke. It sounded like it was about the d&d campaign that Robin was running for the few teachers they actually liked. Maybe a movie. Or a book. It was _probably_ about d&d.

"Can we make shepherd's pie for dinner?" he asked, and Steve paused only to hum in thought. 

He dropped the spatula back into the bowl and wandered closer to slot himself against Billy’s shoulder. "Nonna has lamb, right?"

"Probably." Like everyone else in the world, she _loved_ Steve; if he mentioned something in passing, she would have it stocked by the next week. Nonna Gianna was a _gift._ "I think we need garlic."

"We _always_ need garlic," Steve laughed and edged closer into Billy's space. "I'll get some parsnips, too. Cauliflower?"

Billy made a face, just to hear Steve laugh. 

" _Fine,_ no cauliflower, but I'm gonna add extra peas." He leaned closer, pressed a kiss to the ball of Billy's shoulder. "Better?"

He nodded, turned enough to accept a soft kiss. "Better."

Steve's smile was small, but warm and sweet. "I'll see you at home, okay? Love you."

"Love you, too," he said, leaned closer to knock his forehead against Steve's. He closed his eyes for a moment, just _breathed_. Settled himself. "Thanks."

A warm hand fit against his cheek, comforting and familiar. From outside the kitchen, Callie yelled out her ten minute warning. Soon the doors would open and the place would fill with people. Kenny and Dave would be arriving any minute, the two _always_ late. 

“I should get home,” Steve murmured, dipping to press a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Don’t wanna distract you.”

“Don’t have to be _here_ to distract me,” Billy whispered, truthfully. He ached to reach out a hold Steve close, cradle him tight and secure against his chest. But he had dough beneath his hands, ready to form soft baguettes. “I’ll see you around 4."

“I’ll have cocoa and a blanket ready for you,” Steve promised. He reached up to tug lightly at a stray curl, smiled wider when it sprang back into place. He met Billy's eyes one more time. "Bye, babe."

"Bye, pretty boy." 

"You're both disgusting," David grumbled as he rushed into the kitchen. "You should be ashamed."

It was Steve who flipped the younger man off with a laugh and a smug little grin over Billy’s shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, Johnson.”

He could work with _this_. He knew _this._ Everything smelled like flour and yeast, bitter coffee and sweet, brown sugar. The buttery scent of toasted pecans was nearly overpowered by the sausage patties that David had thrown on the flat top in the corner, and soon everything would smell like breakfast, like maple syrup and fatty, cheesy fried eggs.

In another minute or so, Kenny would burst in and immediately set to work making hashbrowns for Billy, complete with grated onions and banana peppers and drowning in ketchup.

Soon, the front would fill with patrons and a few of the part-timers and the sounds of laughter and chatter. The world outside was big, and loud, and moving on with or without him, and his kitchen was small and _warm_ and _full_. 

_His_ world was small. Smelled like library books and brown butter icing and toothpaste. He had soft lips and the biggest brown eyes Billy had ever seen. His jaw was scratchy and unshaven, and fit perfectly between Billy’s palms. _His_ world--the world that _mattered-_ -couldn’t be fucked to get out of bed on the weekend, unless Billy needed to be pulled back toward dry, solid ground. 

_His entire fucking world_ fit between his hands, and didn’t even complain _once_ about the sticky dough clinging to Billy’s fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are lovely and welcome
> 
> also i made a [tumblr](https://nagdabbit.tumblr.com/) that i won't use much but can be bothered there


End file.
